Gangs of England ((Mobster/biker RP, open. Accepting.))

[Valkore Fraust]

Gands of England.

[Valkore Fraust]

STORY

It is 2008, England. The area has been secure of gang related violence for some time, and still is. Two men have formed the strongest alliance in the Organized Crime history; Jackson MacMillan and Paul Marlowe. Both the leaders and founders of extremely organized, well known and powerful groups. Jackson, the founder of The Devil's Rejects biker club, and Paul, the leader of a Family Crime Syndicate. The Devil's Rejects has Chapters all over England, with appointed Presidents and duties. While the Rejects traffic firearms and the occasional drugs, Marlowe and his men launder and secure their money. The Devil's Rejects are known to "Enforce" Marlowe's law and family. Other families fell before Marlowe and MacMillan terribly and retreated to the US. Both feared and highly respected men, they walk the Streets of England, armed to the teeth with no problem.

[Rendin Verta]

Rules

1: If you wish to join The Syndicate, you will PM a character skeleton to me. If you wish to join the Devil's Rejects, drop a PM to Mandalore Warrior.

2: If you decide to mess with the integrity of the family, especially your superiors, We will personally see to your death.

3: You may not auto-hit, auto-block, god mod, eat chicken wings, whatever you want to call it.

4: Your actions will have consequences. Say you shoot someone in my base of operations. If you don't have a good reason, MacMillan, or I, might have to set you straight....With a baseball bat.

5: This kind of ties into #4. If you cross your T's and dot your i's you'll be rewarded. Not only with money for a job well done, but status, and more importantly, our respect.

6: If you are a nobody, you're not going to have an extremely wealthy lifestyle. This isn't the case if you get the O.K. from me or Mandalore Warrior.

7: You will spell out your words. Slang is acceptable, but no "I walk up to u lol"

8: Please post in past tense, and the third person.

9: You will be partially judged on how elaborate your profile is. Please, put effort into your bio.

10: I reserve the right to add and edit rules when I need to.

11: Respect other RPers. If someone is bothering you, PM me, and I will have a sit-down with them.

12: Now that you have read the rules, but "Syndicate" or "Rejects" in your PM subject with your character skeleton, soon to be posted.

13: No one-liners, and no flawless operations (at least not all the time). You want things to happen, events to occur, and character development to start.

14: EDIT: Along with your skeleton, I would like a sample of RP, so I can see your skill. (Note that if I know your skills, this isn't necessary)

15: EDIT: If your character is killed for any reason, you start all over again with a new character.

16: EDIT: Events (Black ops, hits, assassinations, etc) with more than one person can't be wrapped up in one big-a** post. Where's the fun in that? Give everyone a chance to do something. Pop a few rounds, maybe move cover. Jeez, people.

Gangs of England Character Thread

[Valkore Fraust]

THE DEVIL'S REJECTS

It was formed by Logan "Brave Heart" MacMillan, Jackson's father. He died creating the biker club, not even intending it to be a "Club" but a "Brotherhood." When his father ran it, they were only spread through London, acting as a symbol of the people. Soon, at a convention, others realized their cause. Most have even merged with the Rejects. The leaders of those clubs have been Presidents of different Chapters. Logan was killed during a riding line. A group of violent "hippies" slammed into their line of riding, Finlay taking the hit hard. He passed the legacy to Jackson, hoping he wouldn't find out what he did to start the club. The Devil's Rejects is a organized "Biker Club." It's run by President Jackson MacMillan (myself) and a Vice President (The Strangers Odyssey). To be in the Club, all bikers are given a job. If they perform nicely, a vest is given, and the title "prospect" is given. This means you only have our leather vest, with one patch. The vest has specific patches. On the back, the top Banner is labeled "Devil's Rejects" in a black and red font. Below it, a picture of the Logo. That is our Club Image. Below the image, is written in the same font as Devil's Rejects, but, is labeled "London Originals." We all ride the traditional Harley Davidson Softail motorcycles. NO SPORT BIKES. We are bikers, not Japanese boys racing at night thinking they're bad a**. Our gas tanks are very specific and custom. No biker rides without this tank, and no prospect rides with this tank. Prospects receive one patch at a time, all who send a PM will be a prospect. Fear not, for there will be a chance when you earn your patches.

RULES

1. Don't ride a Suzuki, Yamaha, etc. If you decide to ride one of these bikes, it better be personal. We only ride softails. A softail, for example, is a Harley Davidson. I highly encourage to find Harley Davidson models.

2. Your personal bike is NOT to be ridden with us. Our bikes have blood spilled on them. They are a symbol of our brotherhood.

3. Everyone starts as a Prospect unless given special permission (don't ask.) You will be treated with respect. To earn your symbolic patches of the Devil's Rejects, you will ride with me personally. We will complete a task together. Depending on how/what you do, you will get a new one. Your starting patch is the first one on the back, "Devil's Rejects."

4. Treat everyone in the Club with the up most respect. We are a team, brotherhood and a Club. No one, not even the prospects, are treated with ill manner. If I see this, you will be warned.

5. We will have meetings consisted of the President, Vice President, Treasurer, Allied Leader (Carthson/Paul Marlowe) and two trusted friends. This is when we discuss big issues.

6. Do NOT fly solo. We do things together. As I've said, this is a brotherhood. Things, even personal ones, are done together.

7. Trust is the number one thing in our society. Depending on the amount of trust I have for you, you will be promoted.

Ranks (Highest to lowest.): President, Vice President, Treasurer (deals with our profits.), Sergeant of Arms, Right Hand Biker, Soldier, Tail Biker and Prospect. I will appoint these ranks as we Role Play.

OUR CAUSE

We traffic weapons. Plain and simple. Here and there, we also traffic weed. NOTHING else. The Devil's Rejects is a clean (lol wut?) group. No meth, heroin, cocaine or anything like that. Nothing that causes serious harm to the body. No biker distributes more than 5 pounds to one place every two months. Our weapons trafficking is massive. We distribute the illegal weapons in the UK. Weapons such as: the M4 Carbine, tactical rails, scopes and sights. The M14 EBR, tactical, AK-47's, AK-108's, AK-74(U Carbines and Assault rifle's alike,) R700 sniper rifles, WA2000 copies (since there are only a handful made,) M40A3 rifles, M21 Sniper rifles, M24 sniper rifles, M1014 shotguns (semi auto), AA12 Shotguns (full auto), Desert Eagle's, Glock 17's, Glock 18's, Colt 1911 Kimber editions, various revolvers, mainly .460 and .500 magnums, M249 ParaTrooper, M60E4, Borwning .30 cal mounted machine guns, old MG34's, Kriss .45's, MP5K's, MP5A3, MP7, MP9, and a few other high grade PDW's (Personal Defense Weapon.) We distribute them to mercenaries from the UK and other neighboring countries. There is no need for a biker to be carrying one around all the time, these are only used in big raids. That is why you have your own custom sidearm, nothing too serious (because we only have a ton of them). We believe in showing a brotherhood. Reputation for us is important. So, we don't look like drunks, stoners or savages. We're professional and "For the People."

[Valkore Fraust]

BIKER PROFILES/SKELETONS

[b]Gaia Name:[/b]
[b]Biker Name:[/b]
[b]Age:[/b] (Absolutely no 18 year olds. 21 or older. I won't have teenage dropouts running around with MY vest on.)
[b]Rank: [/b](Prospect, unless appointed otherwise.)
[b]Bike:[/b] (Remember Harley Softails unless given custom permission.)
[b]Arms:[/b] (Weapons. Please have a (max of 2) sidearm and a knife. Nothing fantasy, tactical blades.)
[b]Biography:[/b] (Your characters bio. Include how you were introduced to the Club.)
[b]Birthplace:[/b] (Ok, seeing "London Originals," it was formed in London. Don't come from Russia or Pakistan. England (or any other country in the UK) or the US (came as a child.))
[b]Family Origins:[/b] (Scottish, Irish, English, etc. Once again... nothing FAR OFF. No one from Antarctica or anything, not to sound racist or otherwise.)
[b]Other:[/b] (Anything I've forgotten to include. Tattoos, etc.)
[b]Image:[/b] (No Avatars, Naruto pictures or ridiculous anime pictures.)

[Rendin Verta]

"The Syndicate"

This military styled organization was originally founded by an ex-KGB agent named Nikolai Potrovski in 1996. The Syndicate ran for half a decade before Potrovski slowly grew more paranoid, and stopped putting faith in most of his officers, trusting only Paul Marlowe, an ex-SAS captain who was his hired hitman. In a moment of weakness, Potrovski ordered Paul to eliminate every officer of the organization, as he suspected a rat. After this job was done, Potrovski accused Marlowe himself of being a rat, and tried to kill him. That night in 2004, there was a new leader of the Syndicate. His name is Paul Marlowe.

Guidelines

1: The ranks are simple. I am the boss, often called "Commander". Under me are the Captains, Lieutenants, and Soldiers. Like I said, this is a highly military based organization.

2: Anyone is welcome, although a secure position is granted to one with a military background, as Marlowe views these people as more efficient.

3: Marlowe's main policy is that if a member is caught, he will be disavowed, although it is made sure his men do not reveal themselves.

4: The Syndicate makes it's money through smuggling, Weapons sales, Vehicle sales, mercenary work, and assassinations. Drug dealing and prostitution are immoral in Marlowe's opinion, and is forbidden within the syndicate.

5: Initiates into The Syndicate are sent to kill a target. If the mission is completed, they are given a bullet on a chain to wear as a sign of acceptance. Lieutenants and Captains are assigned during important meetings, usually after the death of a ranked soldier. Captains are given fur-lined bomber jackets to depict their rank, and Lieutenants receive a special firearm, a special Colt M1911

6: The Syndicate has a warehouse for it's base of operations. Subtle modifications have made it suitable for "Stronghold" status, with elaborate defensive positions. It has one central building with two buildings connecting to it, forming an "|_|" shape building-wise. Inside are provisions, several rooms and showers, as well as an emergency exit into the sewers in case of a life or death situation.

7: The Syndicate is a respectful military organization in it's own right, operating in the cloak of night with stealth and efficiency. Combat gear is worn at night, typically Camouflage pants, combat boots and glove masks are worn, and occasionally military grade night vision goggles. Weapons are more flexible in The Syndicate. Marlowe only asks that they are maintained and always in working order.

(Ranks are as followed, highest to lowest: Commander, Pilot (Darthloki 13), Captain, Lieutenant, Soldier, Initiate)

Our Cause

Simply put, the Syndicate is there to make money; mainly through handling other people's problems and requests. Marlowe sees to it that his Assassins are good at what they do, and are proficient. However, brutality can be added to an execution if it does not risk the assassin's identity being confirmed. Marlowe often works alongside his men, as he observes other operatives doing their work. Along with black-operations, The Syndicate often performs hits during the day, but they are carefully planned, as well as executed.


Arsenal

The Syndicate gives standard issue weaponry to those who can't afford their own gear. The weaponry Isn't extremely fancy, however at the same time it isn't cheap. The weaponry is listed below.

M4 Carbines, M4 Super 90 shotguns, P229 .45/9mm handguns, A sparse amount of Colt Pythons, Several Glocks, ranging from 17s to 23s, and any scavenged weapons brought to the warehouse. Paul hopes to acquire more weapons for his personal army, but he knows that patience is the key to everything.

[Rendin Verta]

Syndicate Character Skeleton

[size=11][b]Username:[/b] (Speaks for itself)
[b]Character Name:[/b] (Speaks for itself)
[b]Gender:[/b] (You can determine this by peeking down your trousers)
[b]Age:[/b] (How old are you. No children will be under my banner. Understand?)
[b]Rank:[/b] (You start out as an initiate unless I say otherwise)
[b]Weapons of choice:[/b] (You may have up to 3 weapons at a time, and more in storage)
[b]Appearance:[/b] (a linked image of your character. Please, no Anime.)
[b]Background:[/b] (Where is your character from. I want a country, too. Not everyone is from England)[/size]

[Valkore Fraust]

((Everyone can start now.))

Jackson walked out of his house, bottle of Guinness in hand. The neighbors waved, and a few older men on bikes passed by. Finishing the bottle, he tossed it in the recycling bin and opened the garage door. His Harley sat with a dust cover on. Not a mark on it. Jacks tore off the cover like a present and lay it on the floor. He hopped on, turned the ignition and started the bike. It made a beautiful noise followed by the pipes muffling. Jackson put on his aviator glasses and pulled out of the garage. He reached in his vest and took out the garage door opener, then clicked it. When the door closed, he put it away and rode off the block to the pub. It was the biker's den, bikes lined up. Next to it was a garage, owned by the Club's treasurer.

[The Strangers Oddessy]

Spike was sitting in the pub already. He had been there all morning drinking beer and shots of his faveorite shot drink, vodka... He looked around a bit and smirked a bit. "Flag me!" He shouted and did one more shot and chugged down another mug of Budweiser. He then put them down and was pretty drunk. At that time though. He had been celebrating his grandfathers birthday since his grandfather died a few years after his birth. He looked at everyone in the bar noticing some bikers and he looked at his helmet and focused on it. Straight vodka always got him drunk nice and quick. He sighed lightly and made sure he still had his wallet on him and smirked. "I don't know... I want another shot," He said and laughed a bit. He knew that if his good friend Jackson came in... Jackson wouldn't be happy since Spike said so many times he wasn't going to get hammered before he went out riding on his grandfathers bike.

[Rendin Verta]

The warehouse. After spending most of his time here, it had become his favorite place to be. Add to that, his cozy office building located in the right wing of the warehouse. The door had a keypad, which was quite an investment to make, however, it was good to have additional security in the warehouse, which Paul "cleverly" nicknamed "The Stronghold". His office didn't have many things in it. A desk in the corner, with a Colt Python in the drawer with an Alienware Laptop computer on the desk. There was a wall-safe disguised as a heater to the right of Paul's desk. Other than that, the room had a leather swivel chair for Paul, and a cushioned chair for anyone paying a visit. Checking his emails, Paul sighed at all the spam he constantly received, and deleted it all with a click of the mouse. A can of diet coke lay next to the computer. Diet Coke was one of Paul's few vices. He took a sip and leaned back on his chair.

[Valkore Fraust]

A few minutes away, Jacks had one hand on his lap, the other on the throttle. THe pub came in view, and the only custom softail there was noticed. "Bloody hell," he said, accent thick from Scotland. Stopping the bike up close, he turned off the engine and swung his keys. As he walked through the door, he heard his name being cheered, and men pounding on the table with their fingertips in what seemed like a million times a second. "Hold on to your liquor," Jackson shouted laughing. With slight disappointment, laughter and unsurprised, Jackson sat next to Spike. "Birthday?" Jacks asked holding one finger up. The bartender nodded with a smile and brought a Guinness. "You're not riding home," he said opening the bottle.

[The Strangers Oddessy]

Spike nodded a bit at his good friend Jackson and sighed. "Twenty one years ago... He died holding me... And now It's tradition, that my parents and me used to go out and drink everytime, but now... It's just me... My money, my bike, and beer and vodka," Spike said and was definatley drunk out of his mind. "And what are we doing with my bike?" He asked holding his keys and looking for the one to his bike. He found it and smiled. "I think um, we'll let uh... Whats that guys name? The one who always takes my bike when I get drunk?" he asked and just seemed to stare off into space, trying to find a name he couldn't even think of.

[Commissar LeBoeuf]

Bishop sat on his sofa, loud military-themed music blaring on the TV. He was nervous, and for a good reason. For the first time in a long while, he finally was going to do something with his life. Wasn't the best thing, but at least it would keep him from wasting awa-

"Roy, what's the matter? You look sad or something." He looked away from the TV to his roommate, Linda. She was attractive, at least by most standards, but Bishop made it clear when she moved in, that he wasn't interested. He still wasn't.

"Nothing's wrong. Yet. Think I might go for a walk soon. Get some air." "Okay. Don't do anything stupid." She winked at him, and walked out of the room. A roommate was necessary for him. His time spent as a merc drained him, and a set of hands to help out was nice. And it helped ease the cost of rent a little. No matter how well he had done, money didn't last forever.
"Yeah. Leaving. Just around the block, maybe. I don't know. Cellphone's dead, so it'll be off."
He flicked off the device, and put it back into his pockets. He was already dressed for the cold air, with blue jeans and a leather jacket. Just in case, his old USP was holstered with a shoulder holster under his jacket, as well. Bishop stood up, grabbed his keys from the small table in front of him, and walked outside.

[Rendin Verta]

Paul's organizer began to chime. It was time to meet the initiate. Grabbing his aviators, Paul stood up, and walked over to the coat rack that stood at the right end of the room. He grabbed a brown leather jacket, and put it over his shirt and already worn harness. The two Berettas had suppressors on, making Paul's strides slightly uncomfortable. Still, Paul exited his office, which led to an office-corridor, with a stairwell on one side and a ladder to the roof on the other. Across the corridor was a shower, as well as a "Captain's Quarters" in a sense, as well as another room with several bunks, similar to that of a navy setting. Paul walked to the staircase, entering a lobby, where two seemingly unarmed men stood. Paul nodded at them with a half smile, and the two guards gave a crisp salute. They wore suits; very professional. Even more professional were the desert eagles tucked snugly under their suit jackets. Paul exited the lobby, which had entertainment like an Xbox 360, Wii, Ps3, and all sorts of things, including a fridge full of drinks. Another door would have led to a large garage area, where Paul's men and his best friend, who led a group of bikers would modify vehicles and weaponry. Paul was now in a courtyard of sorts, with a few men standing guard, including a sniper nested in the central building, and moved on to the checkpoint. The security guard gave a small nod, which was acceptable to Paul, as the guard was on good terms with him. Paul turned left, and walked down the street, past his warehouse. This was the parking lot. There in the lot was a black Jeep Liberty, Paul's current vehicle. Paul sat inside, and turned it on, and drove off to the agreed meeting point with the initiate, a mini-mart parking lot. Paul would accompany the newbie, evaluating his work, and if he succeeded, accepting him into the Syndicate. After a quick drive, Paul put the vehicle in park, and waited in the driver's seat. The tinted windows made it hard for outsiders to see him; all the better.